A little girl whose years amount to three,
Has one peculiar taste people could see.
Instead of going out and play dirt with the kids,
She prefer to bury her nose ‘nside dusty lids.
Lids that cover mysterious other worlds,
Containing pictures of enormous ugly birds,
And robots, and cows, and castles, and seas,
These pictures made the girl immensely pleased!
But one thing there is, it makes those brows meet,
‘Twas the odd scribbles too extreme for her wit.
In every page she looks, those tiny, ugly scribbles,
Stares back at her making her brain gears wriggle.
Till the day she could stand the scribbles no more,
She asked granpa what are those ‘lil horrors good for.
Big old man chuckled, sending tummy fats a’ bouncing,
Told her ‘Those are called letters, and they are meant for reading.’
Day after day, a pencil comes smacking her head,
As the wicked old man taught her to read ‘til she bled.
And before long, ‘fore you could say ‘ichtroebgzjitschipklt’,
The girl mastered her alphabet.
Then her two, three, ten, twenty-eight letter words,
Making her the happiest girl who lives in her dusty world!